Supreme Spouse System.-Chapter 126: Duchess Nova

Duchess Nova

The great royal training hall lay broad and tall, its enormity resounding with recollections of numerous training duels. Lines of arena rings stood in quiet vigil under the arcing beams, each defined by chill stone and shiny steel. But on this day, nearly all of them were vacated—quiet and still, shadows of the hot conflicts they once contained. The normal growl of sparring troops had faded to a muted whisper, overcome by an ominous stillness that bore down on the atmosphere.

. In only one ring beat raw energy, circled by waves of guards shoulder to shoulder, eyes locked and tenseguards in compact groups, faces strained with expectation. About that ring, almost every soldier stood shoulder to shoulder, eyes locked on the savage battle within. From the center sounded the ring of metal—hard, unrelenting—broken through by raw screams of pain and effort. The noise had a perverse appeal, raw and unflinching.

He overheard low whispers from the guards. "A formidable warrior," one breathed, furrowed brow.

"No one can equal that strength without shattering," another murmured, reverence in his voice.

Leon’s smile widened, a spark flashing in his eyes as recognition seized him. He knew precisely who fought within that arena.

With smooth smile and measured, unwavering steps, he walked on. The muttering of the crowd deepened, the whispers turning to shocked identification of battel.

His guards pushed ahead, bodies thrust between the packed rows. "Make way! Clear the path!"

Grumblings flared at once within the crowd. "Move aside already! Who do they think they are?" a soldier growled, crossing arms in defiance.

"Who’s pushing through?" snapped another guard, advancing to meet the intruder. But as his eyes changed focus past the guard in front—past the man behind him—recognition flashed in his eyes.

The guards along the front were more and more annoyed as someone pushed through the closely grouped crowd.

"Who the devil’s shoving?!"

"Keep your position—don’t let anyone push through!"

"Some low-brass crumb’s got audacity today," a soldier growled, elbowing back.

Then, again, a guard with Leon bellowed, "Move aside!" In annoyance, the soldiers wheeled around.

And then all eyes were on the guard who’d attempted to push them aside—and behind him stood a man with a serene smile, black hair, and golden eyes—deep, far away, and as uncommon as moonstone. The room held its breath, suspended in frozen wonder.

"Leon Moonwalker..." a voice strained, barely audible.

"Duke Leon himself," another panted, reverence mixed with barely suppressed fear.

Gasps rippled like wind over dry leaves. Where rage had previously burned, wonder took its place. Every man there had known his name. Hailed like—or greater than—the king of Moonstone Kingdom in combat, feared greater than any commander. A battle freak and fighter to one, to another, Leon Moonwalker was a mighty Duke, a legend of life, and an icon for innumerable soldiers and guards. A war hero who had rescued the kingdom, having taken the army to the war win when everything was lost.".

Leon saw the wonder in their eyes, how respect forswore opposition. He internally sighed, used to the burden of their adoration. But he strode on, with a serene smile, not a hint of arrogance, though his presence seemed to demand obedience. Silently, the people parted—as if the wind pushed them aside. The guards fell back one by one, shoulders bristling, heads bending—not out of fear, but out of respect.

He nodded slightly, wordlessly accepting their courtesy, and moved on, unhurried, dignified effortlessly.

People passed with murmurs dying on the last word, falling into soft silence. Guarded eyes dropped involuntarily, others ventured a look, unsure if they were actually standing in front of him.

Before him, the sound of clashing metal increased—cries of agony, the cruel ring of steel against steel. Leon’s golden eyes hardened into a knowing glint, his tranquil smile further deepening. And so it’s her, he thought, as he approached the top of the large arena.

What he saw below was gruesome.

Dozens of guards were sprawled on the arena floor. Others held their stomachs, arms, or legs. A few screamed in pain while holding their own heads, as if struck by something they could not expect. But curiously, there was no blood—only raw, twisted faces of agony. It was obvious—they hadn’t been slashed. They had been punched. Hard.

"Damn. she’s merciless today," one guard whispered beside Leon, his voice barely audible with both awe and fear.

"They’re all down... and she hasn’t even broken a sweat," another grumbled.

Leon’s eyes turned to the midst of the turmoil, where a cluster of guards had loosely formed a circle around one person. Gritting their teeth, they charged together in perfect synchrony—an attempt to overwhelm the sole figure among them.

Then it arrived.

There came a high, snappy yelp of sound—wind squeezed into a snap. In a flash of motion, the figure in the center surged outward with violent power. The guards who had attempted to encircle her were sent flying into the air, their bodies whirling as they sailed like crushed toys and struck hard on the stone.

Gasps went through the crowd.

There, in the center, among the bodies, was a single figure.

Leon’s gaze relaxed as he looked at her.

A woman with long, dark hair pulled back high in a smooth ponytail. Keen green eyes, shining like knives in sunlight, swept her world with unbreakable serenity. Her face—beautiful and icy—was etched with precision. A nobly high, thin nose. Exquisitely arched eyebrows. Tiny, soft pink lips pressed with subdued restraint. Beautiful—absolutely—but not delicate. She exuded threat.

Her body flowed with battle-honed grace, her skin-tight black training gear snugging over her shape like second skin. The indentation of waist and hips, the smooth, tense curves of her thighs and chest—her body was beautiful, but it was the strength coiled under her loveliness that commanded notice.

"Nova," Leon whispered to himself, smiling.

Duchess of the Nova Dukedom. A Grandmaster Realm cultivator. And like him, one of the Three Great Dukes of the Moonstone Kingdom. She was elegance, power, and ruthlessness all in one.

A storm in a woman’s skin.

And at that moment, standing on the brink of the arena, Leon smiled wider—not because she was beautiful, or powerful, or feared by all.

But because she hadn’t changed a whit—at least, not as far as he remembered through the inherited memories.

The battle below went on. ƒreewebɳovel.com

The rest of the guards, shaking but resolute, attacked her once more. One last push. They were driven by desperation rather than courage. They charged in a roar, blades high, making a half-circle. She didn’t even blink.

Nova moved like a storm embodied. One step forward—crack. A punch went square into the belly of the first man, folding him over like paper. Another attempted to hit her from behind—whip—she spun around, elbow into his helmet, sending him tumbling to the ground. The next was kicked off his feet, landing meters away with a hurtled grunt.

She was ruthless. Effective. Every punch deliberate. Brute, but precise.

Leon’s grin only increased.

He knew her.

Not in a personal sense—but through the recollections of the man whose name he now bore. The old Leon Moonwalker.

He recalled the puzzlement the first time he heard her name. Nova? Nova Moonwalker? No. Her full title was simply Nova. Duchess of Nova Dukedom. It was bizarre—like his surname, Moonwalker, derived from his family’s dominion. But hers? Nova was her name and her dominion. Singular. Absolute.

She was renowned across the Moonstone Kingdom and bordering kingdom. One of the most lovely, most sought after unmarried ladies in the kingdom. Noble sons queued up like moths to fire—some from Moonstone, others from distant kingdoms. All made marriage offers.

All of them were spurned by her.

The whispers were numerous, but one had seared into the memory of the old Leon. Her parents, a former Duke and Duchess of Nova—war heroes of the past generation. Legends. Until they were both attempted assassinated. She had been out, training, when it occurred. Too far away to protect them. Too feeble to avenge them.

Only seventeen, she lost her family and dived headlong into war. Training day and night, driving herself to the brink of insanity. She attained Master Realm in a few years. Then, one evening, she sneaked into a neighboring kingdom, by herself, and slay the noble who killed her parents.

She came back, blooded and quiet, and was given the title of Duchess by the old king himself. The only heir of her line.

And for Why didn’t she marry?

This is another story. A promise.

She once sets condition for her would-be husbands. She would marry only a man who could best her at war—on even ground. But none could. None.

Except... there had been a moment. A fleeting flame in her way.

She initially approached the now-ditto Leon Moonwalker—a then-emerging war hero. Handsome, young, and famous. She approached him with a double proposal—but Leon shut her down.

A real battle freak that she was, she couldn’t leave empty-handed. How could she not, not even after a struggle?

So she proposed, "Fight me, and if you’re victorious, I’ll marry you.

She thought no man would ever turn down a proposal of marriage from her—but her hope was broken when the aged Leon still refused. He had his own issues—problems, fears, doubt—that checked him.

She made a second attempt. A third. Then lost hope.

Observing her today, Leon experienced something awakening deep within. The manner in which she moved... the passion, the strength—unapologetic and unbridled.

Yes, she was beautiful.

If you asked him if he wanted her—his response would be straightforward: yes.

He snorted beneath his breath. "The old Leon would have released her. Shame." he thought. "But I’m not the same."

He had not merely acquired a title, or a name. He had taken everything, including the offer of marriage she once made.

A woman like her... you don’t release.

Not if you’re powerful enough to hold on to her.

He smiled to himself, though his expression did not change—calm, impassive as usual.

He had arrived at the training hall early this morning for one purpose only—to seek her out.

How did he know she’d be there?

He’d asked one of the guards at the estate last night, seemingly carelessly, "Did the other dukes come?"

The man had nodded hurriedly, trying to oblige. "Yes, Your Grace. Another duke came today.

Leon hadn’t inquired about who. He already knew. He hadn’t been concerned with any of the other dukes. Only her.

And where would a battle maniac be this early in the morning?

Training, of course.

Where else would she be comfortable if not amidst swords, bruises, and the noise of battles?

But above all else—she counted.

Not because of how beautiful she was, but because she was necessary.

For his future aspirations... perhaps even for himself.

They both had something in common: a passion for combat.

And so, what man of taste could possibly allow a woman like her to get away?

She had once offered a proposal of marriage on his name.

How could he possibly refuse?

So, what if that proposal had been extended to former Leon?

Now... he was Leon Moonwalker.

That name, that legacy... and that proposal—they belonged to him now.

He remembered her words clearly from the memories he carried.

"Defeat me, and I’ll marry you."

She meant it.

She still did.

A vow never broken—only left unanswered.

Now, watching her stand alone at the center of a crater her own strength had carved out, her long black hair whipping behind her like a war banner—

He took a slow breath and nodded to himself, as if contracting a decision in the far recesses of his heart—a strong determination forming. Hypocritical or not... he accepted it. Smiling faintly at the corners of his lips, one thing was sure now. He would claim her, his wife.

His golden eyes flickered back to the arena.

Nova was still holding strong—unwavering, ferocious.

With one sweeping kick, she knocked another elite guard aside.

The audience hardly dared breathe.

She dominated everything.

And Leon, lost in thoughts, and plan for future in mind.

His thoughts were disturbed by a song-like voice.

"Ah, Lord Leon of the Moonwalker Duchy, come to watch me train personally?